


Stuck

by bloodsweettooth, runawaycartoonist



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fucking Machines, M/M, Sex Toys, Stanford is an oblivious owl, and we made it into reality, bloodsweettooth and I joked about it, college antics, fiddleford's wacky inventions, i hope you enjoy, light fiddauthor, on the condition that this be cannon in car thief, pretty much pwp, so it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsweettooth/pseuds/bloodsweettooth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaycartoonist/pseuds/runawaycartoonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford is first and foremost a scientist. Not all of his inventions should be made into reality, particularly not this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> I can't take credit for all of this. bloodsweettooth came up with the idea, and we co-wrote it. god bless.  
> YES THIS IS CANNON FOR CAR THIEF if you follow my stanchez and fiddauthor fic, this takes place within that universe. It was part of our deal.  
> Please enjoy the sin. I may make reference to this fic in an upcoming chapter of car thief.

 

Stanford left the dorm room with thoughts of performing an experiment. It was pouring rain outside, and the occasional flash of lightning and rumble of thunder broke the quiet of their dorm.  “I’ll be gone until late, Fiddleford.  I have to be out in the thunderstorm or I won’t be able to charge the battery to start my perpetual motion machine!”

“Alrighty, Stanford,” said Fiddleford, not looking up from the blueprints on his desk. “Take care, now.”

Ford hefted his backpack, tools and machine parts clanking around inside, and zipped up his jacket, stuffing his notebook inside to keep it dry in the rain. “See you later, buddy! If I’m not back by one in the morning, call the authorities.”

Fiddleford gave a little wave as his roommate closed the door behind him. “Bye!”

First and foremost, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket was a scientist. He was an inventor, and if he had an idea to create something, he most definitely would. Sometimes, these inventions weren’t the greatest. Pterodactyl robot? Maybe not the best idea. Super marshmallow cannon? Maybe that should have stayed on the drawing board.

But in the corner of their dorm room, under a sheet, there was another machine. In retrospect, maybe this is another one that shouldn’t have been brought to life, but Fiddleford thought of it, so he had to invent it.

He had many ways to describe this machine, but it only had one function. It was simple, had a wheel and piston, and the end of it was fitted with an attachable dildo. He preferred to call it a “self-pleasuring machine for recreational use”, but plain and simple, it was a fucking machine.

With his roommate gone and a thunderstorm raging outside, he decided to do the first testing on this machine. If asked  _ why  _ he invented it, he’d probably stutter out something about potential female markets, but the reason truly had nothing to do with that.

He closed the door and locked it, knowing that Stanford had keys, anyway. It wouldn’t do much to keep him out, especially since he had a habit of not knocking before entering rooms when he was excited or in a hurry. At least it would keep nosy neighbors out.

He quickly stripped off his shirt, dropped his trousers and his briefs, and crawled onto his bed.

Fiddleford would later tell himself that this was an experiment to just test the machine, and not for his personal use.  He laid it on the bed below him, lying flat on his back to test at what angle the user was to use the machine.  It seemed too high on his back, so he rolled over to his elbow, accidentally crumpling the first few pages of his notepad.

“Dangit…” He moved the notepad to his pillow, laying on his stomach.  This was also too low.  All of this moving around was really dampening the moo-- _ experiment _ .  It was ruining the results of the  _ experiment.  _

He turned back onto his stomach, lifting himself up on his hands and knees.  As he did so, he felt the dildo slip right into place, pressing the tip of the silicon phallus to his anus.  It made his body shiver and his face flush with color.  He bit his lip as he wrote it down into his notepad.

Now that he had the proper position, he sat upright in his small twin bed.  He swung his feet over the edge, leaning over to his nightstand table.  He opened the top drawer and dug through it, all the way to the bottom.  He had performed one or two other experiments requiring personal lubrication before, but nothing this…  _ intense _ … 

He laid on his back and spread his legs apart.  This experiment was not going to work unless he was prepared.  He popped open the cap, spreading lubricant generously across his fingers, and reached around his shameful erection to press a finger to his anus.  He took a breath as he slowly massaged himself and pressed a finger inside, letting out a shaky sigh.  He was embarrassed at how sensitive he was there, of all places, when there was no purpose for it… 

He pressed his finger further inside. Then a little deeper. He must be blushing bright red, this was ridiculous, he was going to get caught-

_ Oh.  _ That felt really nice. He wasn’t a biology major, but he’d taken a few electives, and he was pretty sure he just found his prostate.

He pushed his finger a little deeper and couldn’t help letting out a satisfied groan. So  _ that’s  _ what everybody was getting all worked up about. It felt  _ incredible. _ Tingles of pleasure went up his spine, urging him to work his finger inside him, before pulling out and adding another.

He definitely felt the stretch, this time. He hissed a little under his breath, pumping his fingers in and out, mentally noting every little sensation from his huffing breaths to the cramp in his wrist.

Fiddleford decided to try three fingers. He pulled his fingers out, added a little more lube, and eased them back in, wincing from the cold. It didn’t take as long to find his prostate, this time (he was nothing if not a fast learner). He moaned desperately as his fingers nudged against the sensitive spot. It was not enough, and he desperately wanted to wrap his other hand around his cock and jerk himself to completion, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise. This was an  _ experiment. _ He had already established that. He would have to treat it as such.

With a low groan, he pulled his fingers from himself and wiped his hand on a tissue. He picked up his pen with shaky fingers and scribbled a few notes, with his face and ears burning with a blush.

_ Pleasurable sensation,  _ he scrawled under his point notes.  _ Finally understand why the prostate is a big deal. _

He pushed his pen and notepad aside before wriggling further down the bed, crawling back onto his hands and knees. He added a little extra lube to the device, grasped the base of the toy and aligned it, still having second thoughts about this whole thing. He was terrified that the machine would malfunction and he’d have to go to the hospital or something. What would he tell the doctor? ‘ _ I made a fucking machine and it went crazy and now a dildo is stuck inside me. _ ’ He desperately hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He’d made a hundred different calculations to make sure that this wouldn’t happen, but he was still a little bit anxious.

He gently eased the tip of the toy inside himself and let out a breath. This was definitely more…  _ substantial  _ than his fingers. He pushed himself down against the toy, inching it slowly inside himself.

He cursed under his breath and gripped the sheets in sweaty fingers. Damn, the thing wasn’t even  _ on  _ yet and it was intense. He pushed it into him just a little bit more before stretching his foot down and flicking the on switch with his toe.

The machine started to move. He was grateful for the music upstairs and the thundering rain outside, drowning out the creaking machine as it slowly began to thrust the phallic device into him.

Fiddleford quickly realized that he was in new territory. He’d never dreamed that it could feel like  _ this.  _ Is  _ this  _ what he’d been missing out on all these years? Holy cow.

He threw his head back and moaned as the machine picked up the pace just a bit, as it was designed to. He spread his legs further, resisting the temptation to grasp at his aching, throbbing cock. No, this wasn’t for his  _ pleasure,  _ this was an  _ experiment _ . He was supposed to be taking  _ notes  _ on how the machine worked, not losing himself in the experience.

He bit his lip to try and stifle his moans, but it really didn’t work. He wondered if other men would enjoy this… 

This wasn’t the point of the experiment.   _ ‘This was for research, for crying out loud!’ _  But he just couldn’t help himself.  The machine went even faster, pressing the head of the toy hard to his prostate with each thrust, and he found himself gripping the bedsheets so hard his knuckles went white.  His glasses fell to his pillow, and drool dripped from the corner of his mouth as he panted and moaned louder and louder.  His stomach was hot, and precum was dripping on the bed.  He couldn’t stand it anymore, he was in a world of hot, messy pleasure and he couldn’t think right.

Then fear struck him,  _ ‘What would Ford think if he caught me like this?’ _

No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He said he’d be back late. But...

Quickly he looked back at the door and saw that the _ lock was moving.  The lock.  Was.  Moving! _

He quickly ripped the sex toy from the machine, still in the grip of his anal muscles, and turned the machine off.  He threw the sheet back over the device and hastily adjusted it so none of it could be seen.  

One lock was undone.  Fiddleford didn’t have any time.  He threw his shirt back on.  He whipped his head around to find something, anything that could help him.  Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck! _

\--

Stanford opened the door, dripping wet. Water droplets clung to his glasses and his hair was plastered down to his head.  “I got water in the battery and there was no lightning close to my lightning rod…” he grumbled, dropping his soggy backpack to his corner of the room.

Fiddleford looked up from his book.  His hair was a sweaty mess, his face was flushed red, and his blanket was tucked up under his shirt, but he was reading a book.  The book was in his lap, which was weird.  He always held his book up close to his face… 

“Are you hot?  Your face is red.”  Stanford said, taking off his long coat and hanging it on a hook.  He went to their single window to open it.  Fiddleford moved the book with Stanford’s every move to keep the spine towards his roommate.

Stanford put his hands on his hips, turning towards his roommate.  “Say, don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”  Fiddleford tried not to look phased.  “You know, it’s okay to have a little fun every once in awhile.”

Fiddleford gulped.  “Wh-Why thank ya, Stanford.  Thank ya for takin’ notice in my well bein’.  It’s late now, you should get a little shut eye…”

“Well, I’m not very tired, and I have to write up the notes on the experiment.” Stanford grinned, taking off his heavy, wet sweater and hanging it up to dry, and doing the same to all of his wet clothes. “Oh, that’s much better.”

Fiddleford took a guilty pleasure in watching his friend undress. Little rivulets of water ran down Stanford’s back and chest as he fought against the wet fabric. Even his boxers were a little bit damp and clung to his body, not leaving much to the imagination.

_ ‘Oh, for the love of sweet baby Jesus, Fiddleford,’ _ he scolded himself, pulling the book a little bit closer. ‘ _ This isn’t very well helping your predicament, is it? _ ’

“How late are you planning on staying up?” asked Ford, dropping his wet laundry onto the ever-growing pile of stuff they had to wash.

“Um…” Fiddleford shrugged, hardly able to keep a coherent thought together. The blasted toy was  _ still inside him, _ pressing up against all the right places. He practically quivered with tension.

“Well,” said Stanford, stretching luxuriously. He pulled his glasses off and dried them on his cleaning cloth before placing them back on his nose. “I gotta write some notes. You can imagine that writing notes isn’t the easiest thing to do in the rain.”

“I-I-I would reckon not,” said Fidds, squirming slightly. God, this was torture. Why did Stanford have to be so gosh darn  _ attractive? _

Ford paused, noticing his stutter. He tilted his head inquisitively. “Are you alright, Fiddleford? You’re still very red.”

“I’m fine!” he protested.

“You look under the weather.” He stepped over and pressed the back of his wrist to Fiddleford’s forehead, feeling for a fever. He clicked his tongue. “You’re running a little warm.”

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered, trying to move away but  _ oh god, the toy moved _ . He bit his lower lip to stifle his moan.

“Are you alright?” asked Stanford when he heard a soft noise escape his friend. “You aren’t in pain, are you?”

“Um… not exactly?” God, he was right there, he could just touch him, pull him close, kiss his stomach and his chest, run his fingers through his happy trail, suck on his neck… Fiddleford pulled the book even closer to his lap, cursing himself thoroughly.

“You don’t need me to call a doctor?” he asked, letting his hand linger, barely brushing Fiddleford’s temple.

“I swear I’m fine, Stanford!” Fiddleford wanted to push his friend away, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He squirmed a little, and the toy pressed against his prostate and  _ oh god, no. _ “I-I really am fine. Don’t let me keep you from your work.” The faster he got his work done, the faster Fiddleford could get this damned contraption out of him.

Ford stepped away. “If you insist.” He went to go sit at his desk, his slightly damp notebook in hand.

_ Please finish quickly, please finish quickly, _ prayed Fiddleford. He still held the book over his lap and as he directed his gaze to it, he realized that he’d been holding it upside down this entire time. He quickly righted it and legitimately tried to read to take his mind off of the dildo still inside of him.

Of course, Ford didn’t go to bed for another hour. He sat hunched over his desk for thirty minutes, clicking his pen with fervor as he tried to scribble down notes for his experiment. Fiddleford tried not to look over at him, tried not to notice how his still-damp muscles gleamed in the soft lamplight. He failed.

Then, Ford grabbed one of his favourite science fiction novels and spent  _ another  _ thirty minutes hunched over that, still clicking his blasted pen and mumbling something about capers. Fiddleford was, much to his surprise, still painfully hard. He would have thought that his erection would have gone away by now, but no. The toy would shift as he adjusted himself, and he would have to bite back another moan. His lip was probably bruised, by now.

_ Finally,  _ Stanford stood up from his desk, stretched, yawned, and shuffled off to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Fiddleford tried to take this opportunity to get the dildo out of him. He quietly put his book aside, and slipped a hand between his legs, leaning back so he had better access. He got a firm grip on the base and tentatively began to ease it out of him.

_ Oh,  _ it dragged against his prostate. He let out a tiny gasp and couldn’t help palming his crotch. He desperately wanted to wrap his hand around himself so he could finish, but Stanford could be back at any second and-

“So, do you wanna accompany me, tomorrow?” asked Stanford as he strolled back in the room. “There’s supposed to be another storm.”

Fidds quickly grabbed his book and held it over his lap. “Uh, sure! Sounds great!”

Ford noticed his blush still hadn’t gone away. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Positive! Right as rain! W-we should catch a good night’s sleep, don’t you reckon?”

“I  _ reckon, _ ” said Ford, teasingly impersonating his friend’s accent. He ruffled his hair as he walked by. “G’night, Fidds.”

Fiddleford didn’t reply. He pressed the book harder to his lap.

Stanford turned out his lamp but left Fiddleford’s on so he could ‘read.’  He then climbed into his own twin sized bed, facing the wall to avoid the lamplight.

A few achingly long minutes passed. Fiddleford waited, listening to Stanford’s breaths, trying to determine how close he was to falling asleep. Once Fiddleford thought he had dropped off, he turned out his lamp and put his book on the side table.  He laid on his side,  _ praying to God _ that Stanford didn’t wake up or look his way.

He slowly worked the toy out of himself.  As it came out of him, there was a quiet pop, and he couldn’t help but let out a small groan. He was still hard after all this, and he tentatively wrapped a hand around his dick.

Stanford, being the light sleeper that he is, woke up. Fiddleford froze in fear when he heard him turn over in bed.  Ford groggily asked, “Did you say somethin’ Fidds?”

“I said goodnight, Stanford!” he peeped quietly, shoving the dildo under his pillow. This made for a very uncomfortable night’s sleep.

\--

The next day, Fiddleford wanted to take a sledgehammer to the blasted machine and destroy his notes. He didn’t. The machine was stored at the bottom of a pile of other failed inventions. He didn’t use it again, but he took it with him when he left university, and he brought it with him when he moved to Gravity Falls.

**Author's Note:**

> runaway:  
> AHAHAHA  
> *hides forever*  
> I hope you enjoyed this sin. More car thief coming soon, but so is hiatus bc I have 10 days left in Canada.
> 
> bloodsweettooth: succffer


End file.
